


Foreigner's God

by genevievedarcygranger



Series: Hotch x Reader / Hotch x You [2]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Priests, Angst, Catholicism, Church Sex, Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, Demons, Dubious Consent, Dubious Ethics, Dubious Morality, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, F/M, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Hozier References, I Wrote This While Listening to Hozier's Music, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Inspired by a Hozier Song, M/M, Mentions Of Infidelity, Mildly Dubious Consent, One Shot, Oral Sex, Out of Character, Priest Kink, Priests, References to Depression, References to Drugs, Religion Kink, Religious Conflict, Religious Guilt, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Rough Sex, Semi-Unhappy Ending, Sex, Short One Shot, Smut, Song: Foreigner's God (Hozier), Supernatural Elements, Title from a Hozier Song, degradation kink, references to gambling, toxic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:33:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25436974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genevievedarcygranger/pseuds/genevievedarcygranger
Summary: Father Aaron Hotchner had always been content with his priesthood, cassock, and clerical collar. Until one black sheep – and a stranger – proved to him that he wanted more. And what Hotch wants, he will get at great sacrifice.
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner/Haley Hotchner, Aaron Hotchner/Reader, George Foyet/Haley Hotchner
Series: Hotch x Reader / Hotch x You [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1862236
Comments: 2
Kudos: 44





	Foreigner's God

Father Hotchner – or Father Hotch, as his younger congregation affectionately dubbed him since he was more popular with them rather than the older crowd, who preferred Father Rossi – enjoyed his profession. From a young age, he has found comfort in his faith, his catholic boarding school being the only safe haven from his abusive father. When his mother died, his brother Sean turned to drugs, but Hotch threw himself to the cloth. He hadn't planned to, but he has always wanted to help people where he can. Priesthood seemed the better alternative than expensive, time-consuming law school.

And for the most part, Hotch did not regret it. Unfortunately, Hotch's least favorite duty was confession. It was amazing that he had no issue with keeping all his other vows, not even celibacy, but the vow to forgive and keep secrets always challenged him. Of course, most confessions were innocuous. All of God's children are sinners, but Hotch's congregation confessed to imagined sins.

* * *

"Forgive me and bless me, Father, for I sometimes dream of lying with another man. I wish I felt different, but I can't help it."

"You are as God created you, child. Five Hail Mary's."

* * *

"Bless me, Father Hotch, for I have sinned. It has been, well I can't even remember, since my last confession. That's why I'm here. I am dishonest to my family and my friends, but I don't want to burden them, and I don't even want to burden you, Father. I don't know what to do or where to go, but I have money problems from gambling."

"Gambling is a vice, but all of us are beholden to something or other. It is important that so long as you try to better yourself to not commit these same mistakes, you are doing good in the name of God. And God will always forgive you each time you fall from his grace. Ten Hail Mary's."

* * *

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. My sin is that… I have moments of weakness where I wish to destroy one of God's creations."

"Why so vague, my child? Name your sin."

"I hurt myself on purpose, Father. I don't know why."

"You feel powerless, but you do have power in your life, even if this power is to resist this sin. Ten Hail Mary's, and come back to us again."

* * *

There are some confessions, though, that sorely tempt Hotch to tear the privacy screen aside. He knew that his temper was his greatest weakness, but when he talked to Father Rossi about it, he only consoled him that it drew from his greatest strength: his sense of justice. Still, Hotch hated the confessions of adultery the most. Even though he had never been with someone, he couldn't imagine that violation of trust, no matter the temptation.

Of course, there was some true sinners in his congregation that Hotch knew would never confess to their wrong-doings. One family's father – George Foyet – was all too similar to Hotch's own. He could see it happening right before his nose, and despite his position in the church, he had no power to stop it.

Sundays, the father would be conspicuously absent, hungover from his Saturday night drinking. Those same Sundays, the mother Haley would lather her face with makeup, wearing the brightest clothes to draw the attention away from the few missed spots of finger bruises around her neck and dark circles under her eyes. She was a good woman, unfailingly kind, a devoted mother. Despite her own bruises, Hotch never saw her son Jack bear a single mark. He knew that had to be Haley's doing, not Foyet.

Jack was also a bright spot, nothing like his father, completely like his mother. He was a little shy, but whenever Hotch spoke to him and his mother, Jack was always polite. Hotch knew that church wasn't exactly where any young, energetic boy wanted to be, but Jack was always well behaved.

In time, Hotch watched as Jack learned to keep his family's terrible secret as well. It made Hotch sick, and it also made him weak in his faith as he dared to think that sometimes prayer is not enough.

* * *

It was on a slow day that Hotch was managing the church by himself. Father Rossi was out of town with a few of their congregation, which explained the slowness. Hotch didn't mind the quiet, but that was just the familiarity that came with time. Today was different, though. The storms were also keeping his flock away, safe inside their homes. Hotch wandered around the hallowed grounds, lighting candles, and realized that he felt loneliness.

Suddenly there was a terrible crack that had Hotch flinching, unintentional blowing out the candle he just lit. At first, he thought it was just the thunder, but then a cold gust of air ruffled his cassock, bringing with it petrichor and a few stray raindrops and rust-colored leaves. He turned to go shut the door, and was surprised that despite the storm, his church had a visitor.

It wasn't anyone he recognized, but they were casually dressed in jeans and a rain-soaked jacket with the hood pulled up, obscuring their face. They just stood there at first, dripping water all over the floor, and staring at their booted feet. "Hello?" Hotch called to them, not one to refuse anyone from sanctuary.

The sound of his voice seemed to be all it took for the stranger to start moving again. They threw off their hood and looked up at him, face open and honest. "I'm sorry, Father, I just didn't know where else to go," they started apologizing. "I only had enough money for a bus ticket and this is how far it took me."

"This is no trouble, my child," Hotch said graciously. He started down the center aisle, spreading his arms. "You are welcome to rest here as long as you need."

Hotch attempted to push the door shut again, but the wind fought him. With the stranger's help, though, they were both able to get it closed. In the process, the stranger's shoulder brushed against his, and the touch was like lightning, despite the layers of clothes and cassock between them. As subtly as he could manage, Hotch pulled a respectable distance away and took note of the mess the stranger had caused.

At the same time, the stranger noticed it, too. "I'm so sorry, Father. It's just – the storm and the diner said I couldn't stay unless I had money."

Raising his hand, Hotch interrupted, "Not to worry. Nothing a mop can't fix." He watched as the stranger's clothes continued to drip, and realized that even if he wanted to clean up the mess, he'd have to spend the whole time following the stranger with a mop. "Why don't we get you into some dry clothes?" suggested Hotch, "I'm sure we have something in our lost and found that might fit."

With a grateful smile, the stranger followed him into one of the back rooms where the church stored things like the lost and found, extra candles, and the disposable cups used as communion. The lost and found thankfully had spare clothes, though Hotch wasn't one to accurately guess anyone's size. After passing the carboard box to the stranger to rifle through to their content, Hotch took a step back. "You can change here if you like, or our restrooms. I'll just be," he cut himself out with a choking noise as the stranger stripped away their hoodie and jeans without shame.

Hotch had never seen so much skin before that was not his own. The stranger's clothes had done little to protect them from the rain as they were soaked. Mouth going dry, all Hotch could do was stare, his eyes drinking their fill without penance. His vows of celibacy were completely absent from his mind.

Once the stranger pulled on their new clothes, they immediately noticed his staring. Hotch went to apologize, but the stranger beat him to it. "I'm sorry, Father. How shameful of me. I just forgot that not everyone is used to," falling short of proper words, they gestured to their body vaguely.

Trying to choose his words carefully, Hotch went for a statement that would sound appropriately neutral for a priest rather than as lustful as he felt. "All bodies are beautiful as the lord created them in his image." He laced his fingertips in front of his abdomen as if that simple gesture could contain all these carnal desires that were steadily overwhelming him.

Eyes demurely lowered, they smiled at that, bashful but pleased. Hotch felt a thrill go through him at that smile. "Thank you, Father. It's been a long time since anyone has called me beautiful. Most people just," they faltered, and Hotch sensed that they were withholding something important.

"What is it, my child?"

They hesitated for only a moment before suddenly they were stepping into Hotch's personal space, clutching at his forearms. "Can you take confession, Father? For me?" Their eyes pleaded, and Hotch felt helpless to do anything otherwise.

He gaped for only a moment before he was offering, "I can take your confession now, or we can use the booth if you prefer?" Normally, Hotch wouldn't make that offer since he felt the privacy screen was important for a full confession. In the confessional booth, there is no eye-contact, and should the confessor choose to weep, they would have the privacy to do so. It also saved Hotch from performing things like a hand to the shoulder or other physical gestures that he still felt too inept to do without awkwardness.

Unfortunately for Hotch, though, the stranger wanted that physicality. "Here is fine, Father." They stared at him, wide-eyed, and Hotch could practically taste their eagerness, their craving for intimacy that came with confession.

It was only then that Hotch realized that they were still touching him, their palms practically burning a hole through his cassock's sleeves. When he tried to disentangle himself, the stranger only ensnared him further, slipping their hands into his owns, interlocking fingers. Their grip was strong, and it would take a lot of force and rudeness on Hotch's part to pull away now. Resigned to his place, Hotch said, "Whenever you are ready, child."

That was all it took. "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been seven years, four months, and two days since my last confession." They didn't so much as blink. "I have not been to confession because I chose to sell my body for money. Only now I have chosen to not do that, and now I don't know what to do." Normally, this is when anyone else would start crying, but the stranger only sighed, looking down at their clasped hands. Hotch felt instant relief from the break in eye-contact, as if he could breathe fully again. "I am lost, Father. Can you help me? Guide me where I need to be?"

Hotch had never had a confession like this before, but he was familiar with those who had lost their way. He said what he would have said to anyone in his congregation. "You've been lost without the lord, but you are back here now. Through him, there is forgiveness, redemption, salvation. You may be challenged, but you will find your way soon."

The stranger threw their arms around his neck, and Hotch froze. He had hoped that his words were helpful, but he didn't think they would warrant this much gratefulness. He was ashamed though that the warmth of another's body pressed against his own was all it took for him to grow half-hard under his cassock. All too soon for his liking, the stranger pulled away again and took his hands into their own. "Thank you, Father, so much," their voice dropped in pitch, dripping with sincerity. "You've done more for me than you know. Is there anything I need to do for this confession? Any way to repay your kindness?"

"No," Hotch managed, his voice strangled in his own throat as he attempted to beat back his lustful thoughts. "There is nothing you can do for me, child."

"Now, I don't believe that," the stranger literally simpered at him. They batted their lashes; they bit their bottom lip, dragging their tongue over their mouth to soothe the bite. "How about instead of a dozen Hail Mary's," they dropped to their knees before him, eyes darkening with their own lust, "I suck your cock, Father?"

Fully incapable of speech now, Hotch just stared at them in a dazed stupor. Never would he have dreamed this capable, and never would he have thought that hearing his title in such a way would make his cock throb.

Taking his silence as permission, the stranger wasted no time in pushing his cassock up his legs and attacking the button of his pants. Their pawing hands made his cock twitch painfully, so when the confines of his pants were ripped away, it surged with gratefulness.

It took the foreign touch of the stranger's warm hands around his cock for Hotch to be capable of rational thought again. "What, what," he stuttered, so uncertain of what to do in this situation, "what are you doing?"

_What are you doing to me?_

"I'm satisfying you, Father," the stranger explained, patiently as if talking to a child. "I am going to sate all your desires, every hope and dream you ever wished." They smiled, and their eyes were suddenly too dark to be human. "I am the answer to your darkest prayers."

He should have been afraid, but Hotch could not bring himself to refuse such a gift. The stranger sensed this conflict within Hotch and smiled again, taking pride in being the source of such. They pumped his cock a few times, teasing him with the promise of what was to come, before finally, agonizingly descending their mouth on his tortured flesh.

The first touch of lips to his cock was what broke Hotch's celibacy vows.

Kismet.

After that, any guilt he might have had was easily swept aside in the wake of a hot mouth dripping with saliva. Their tongue was masterful, wrapping around his length and lathering him with sloppy kisses. The suction was so much better than Hotch could have ever fantasized, it did so much than the meagerness of his own clumsy hands. The stranger was almost inhumanly good as they took him deeper than he thought possible, sucked him with so much force that he felt he would explode.

"Fuck," Hotch gasped, throwing his head back as he lost himself in the warmth and the wetness. If this was the talent of the mouth, even then Hotch found himself longing to bury himself in their hole. He closed his eyes as the thought, fighting back his orgasm in anticipation for more to come. "You're a talented cocksucker, aren't you? Taking me so fucking deep."

The stranger hummed around his length, pleased with the praise. They started bopping their head faster, nose touching his pubic bone every time. With hollowed cheeks, they drooled around his cock, and then started gulping him rhythmically as if dying of thirst.

"That's it, whore," Hotch groaned as he seized their head. All restraint gone, he started pumping his cock into their mouth, shoving himself further and further down their throat. "You take my cock so fucking well."

There was a scrape of teeth, the pinch of discomfort only adding more fuel to the fire. Hotch sunk he hands down to the stranger's shoulders, gripping them much too tightly, though they didn't seem to care or notice. As they swallowed them deeper into the tightness of their throat, Hotch knew that he could not go back to how things were before. He needed this, and he wanted this again before this was even over. Hotch gripped the sides of the stranger's neck, applying more pressure selfishly so that his cock could be squeezed tighter. He didn't consider if the stranger could breathe, and if he had, he would not have cared.

Fortunately, the stranger did not need to breathe, but that didn't stop them from jerking Hotch's cock from their mouth unceremoniously. He whined at the loss, and they laughed at him, the sound cruel. Not bothering to wipe away the stray drool, they climbed to their feet again and seized Hotch's cassocks in their fists. "Are you gonna fuck me, Daddy? I know you want to." They smirked at his blatant surprise. "Yeah, you do. You want my hole, don't you, Daddy? You want me doggy style, right here, on the floor."

Everything they said had been completely right. Hotch did want them like that so he could guiltlessly chase his own end, so that their hands did not manipulate his body anymore. He wanted to sink his teeth into their skin until he tasted blood. He wanted so much that he did not deserve and did not want to ask for. But he did not have to ask.

"Turn around. On your knees. Clothes off."

Again, they laughed, but they did as they were told. Hotch marveled at his power in this scenario where at first he felt he had none. Then he was left to marvel at the stranger's body as it was completely laid bare before him. He quickly followed, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to pull out that claustrophobic cassock. The clerical collar around his throat, which was normally so comfortable that he could have forgotten about it, felt like it was choking him now. When he tore it away from his throat, it was instant relief, and he gasped at his newfound freedom, his Adam's apple bobbing.

Hotch fell down against the stranger's body. He might have collapsed, but the stranger seemed prepared for this, their arms braced against the floor. They showed no discomfort. When they peeked over their shoulder at him, they were still smiling at him. Hotch had a feeling that his sense of power was misplaced. He would be correct. "What are you waiting for, Daddy? Put your cock in me already!"

Now he was the one who did as he was told. Hotch fumbled on the first try to slide his cock into place, but once he fed in the tip, the rest was quick to follow. He almost came, but he managed to hold back, surprised at his own strength in this foreign situation. If he thought their mouth was perfect, their hole was what that lost paradise was so long ago.

They were tight around him, wet, and he didn't think how that would be possible. As he set his pace into them, they keened, but that was nothing compared to Hotch's own curses. "You're a perfect little fuck-hole, aren't you? Shit. Scream for your daddy."

The stranger did scream for him, and Hotch didn't pause to think that it was solely for his benefit. But they seemed to be enjoying themselves, and as he neared his end, they screamed higher. "That's right. Fuck me, Daddy. Fuck me and forget your God, your stupid fucking vows. I'm your fucking God now."

It should have shamed Hotch that these words didn't make him stop, but he didn't even feel any guilt in his gut. In fact, the stranger's words only served to egg them on. Digging his fingertips into their hips, he kept fucking them in earnest, his only thought being on his pleasure.

His orgasm still took him by surprise. It was perfect, and he pushed deeper into the stranger's hole, pumping his seed inside them without care. He barely registered when the stranger came as well, too busy prolonging his orgasm until his cock was too over-sensitized for it to be pleasurable. Only then did he allow himself to still, not yet pulling out as he savored the heat. He sunk down onto the stranger's body, and they sprawled on the dirty floor.

Only in the wake of his orgasm did clarity finally filter through Hotch's brain again. With it came the guilt, seeping deep into his bones, yet still while the pleasure thrummed through his veins in the aftershocks of his orgasm. He sighed, and it was like the sound came from the very depths of his tired soul.

Below him, the stranger laughed weakly. "I was good, wasn't I, Father?"

"Yes," he weakly answered, knowing that there was no point in lying.

"I could be better, you know," the stranger started slowly. They did not turn their head to look at him, but Hotch felt caught in a trap anyway. "There are some nights where you dream, Father, and though you don't remember these dreams, I know that you've thought of doing what we've done with another." Hotch's heart stuttered in his chest, and he finally felt fear. "One of your congregation, no less. Haley Foyet," the stranger whispered.

Wrenching himself free, Hotch tossed the stranger on their back. Again, his hands found their throat. "Don't you dare speak her name!" He practically snarled in their face.

"Oh, Father Hotchner. So quick to commit another sin the wake of your first? I like it," the stranger teased, calm, not afraid.

"I…I never told you my name."

The stranger raised an eyebrow, deeply unimpressed. "You never had to."

Swallowing nervously, Hotch removed his hands from the stranger's throat, but kept them pinned underneath his body, afraid of any sudden movements now. "What do you want from me?"

"Now you ask me?" The stranger shook their head. "Don't worry, Father. It's not what I want; it's what you want." Their voice suddenly dropped in pitch, much too deep to be human as he felt it thrum through his chest. "And what I can get you."

"More than this?" Hotch didn't know what else he could have prayed for. He never even knew that he prayed for this.

"You didn't pray for sex so much as pray for a relief from your loneliness," the stranger explained his thoughts without him even having to ask. Their fingertips skated across his jaw, nails a little too sharp for his comfort. "I took liberty with satisfying that prayer. It's the subtle nuances and the phrasing, you know."

They dropped their hand away, and with it all pretenses of playfulness disappeared as well. Now their eyes were completely black, all pupil, no iris, no whites. "You've prayed on behalf of Haley and Jack Foyet. Prayed for their release from George Foyet's hands. You want him dead, but you don't want to get your hands dirty." They smiled again, and each of their teeth were canines. Hotch was sure they weren't like that before. "I can do it for you."

"All things come at a price, demon," Hotch spat, suddenly realizing what they were. He was disgusted himself now, ashamed at his weakness, wracked with guilt.

The demon rolled their eyes. "You gave me an orgasm for an orgasm. For that, I thank you. For this deal, I get Foyet's soul – something that would have happened anyway, just ahead of schedule now. But I know that's not all you want in addition to Foyet dead. You want his family." The demon mocked him now, "You want to give them what they deserve in a husband and father."

It was one of Hotch's greatest fantasies spoken aloud. He would have never realized that is what he wanted had the demon not put it into words. Still, he knew that his heart has always wanted this. "I do."

"You may have them. A year after Foyet's death, Haley will take your name. But Haley will only be a Hotchner for ten years. You hear that? Ten years. And then Haley will not be yours."

He should have immediately rejected this deal, but instead Hotch asked, "And what of Jack? He's just a boy, not even ten-years-old now."

"The boy will be yours, no time limit on that, I promise." At Hotch's doubtful look, the demon sighed. "I'm no fool. You would never accept my offer if any harm befell to the boy."

"But I will if the harm comes to Haley?"

"You're selfish, Father Hotchner, and human. But not that selfish. You're a better man than I can tempt that far."

Hotch bowed his head. "You're still tempting me to murder."

"I'm doing it for you. Don't be so dramatic."

Finally, Hotch could no longer stand the coldness of the floor or staring into the face of a blatant demon. When he stood, his knees ached, something that he could ignore before but could no longer. Much like other things, it seemed. He scoffed at himself, at the entire situation, but he wasn't sure he had much of a choice in how things were going to go. He was but an instrument of fate.

The deal didn't seem all that bad though. Men like Foyet deserved to burn in hell. Women like Haley deserved husbands who didn't beat their wives. Boys like Jack deserved loving fathers. So, there was no choice.

"Ten years?" He turned to face the demon again.

Still lounging on the floor, the demon stretched like a cat that got the cream. "Yes, but first you must wait a year from Foyet's death." The demon stretched again until their spine popped and they groaned with satisfaction at the noise. "Are you sure you can wait that long? Can you live with the guilt, Father?"

Though Hotch did not immediately reply, his answer would not have changed regardless. "I can."

"Then it's a deal. Enjoy your new future, Father." Then the demon laughed, realizing their mistake. "Well, you're not a Father anymore. Not for another year, at least. Then you'll be a Daddy." They laughed, and it sounded like a screech. "Enjoy it all."


End file.
